


l'appel du vide

by soothsayeradagio



Category: Original Work
Genre: I am so tired, Other, The Government is Bad, You are the protagonist, i didnt follow it, im just publishing this so my friends can read it, like the giver with a splash of welcome to night vale, the prompt was courage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soothsayeradagio/pseuds/soothsayeradagio
Summary: You wish you could go outside, but as far as you can tell, everyone who’s gone out there has died.The thought terrifies and exhilarates you. The fear outweighs the excitement, however. So you stay.And stay.Maybe it’s better to forget.





	l'appel du vide

You’re not sure when this all started.

 

You can’t remember when it started raining. No one can.

 

That’s normal, They assure you.

 

After the first death, people find it easy to comply.

 

Stay in your house; eat the food they tell you to eat; watch the approved television programs; don’t mention the rain.

 

It’s constant, see, that pattering on the roof of your house, stronger than any rain from before. At first, it was deafening, with booming thunder and lightning through the windows. 

 

One of your favorite programs comes on the television: one of those heavily edited movies that They show on Saturday mornings. At least you think it’s Saturday. It gets hard to tell. You’re sure that They like it that way. 

 

You watch. The people on the television are supposed to be the perfect drones of the Them (television is only one station these days, after all, and rarely shows anything but propaganda on how to obey Them), but on these special days, you get to see versions of characters you once knew well living their lives. You miss going outside, and drinking tea, and playing the piano, and reading. Gods, you miss reading. But that’s illegal now. 

 

You wish you could go outside, but as far as you can tell, everyone who’s gone out there has died.

 

The thought terrifies and exhilarates you. The fear outweighs the excitement, however. So you stay.

 

And stay.

 

Maybe it’s better to forget.

 

You get a call one day. It surprises you, because nobody ever calls anyone these days. People live in their family units and don’t leave their homes. Ever. 

 

You answer. It’s your mother. Your father has died. You wonder if he tried to leave.

 

Would be nice if you remembered him.

 

You go to sleep. 

 

And you forget. Almost. 

 

The sound of the rain reminds you that there’s a world out there. And you’re almost sure it’s beautiful. Or at least it was.

 

You remember sunshine. The feeling when you’ve been outside for a while (swimming maybe? You can’t remember) and going inside, the warmth of the sun still on your back and your lungs full of warm, heady, fresh air.

 

And sunsets. It looked like someone had taken a paintbrush in the purest, most beautiful colors and streaked them across the sky. Blues and purples and oranges and whites flood your memory. That’s gone now. It’s always dark, you suppose.

 

The taste of Coca-Cola. Snow crunching under boots. Tea of the perfect sweetness and temperature. Music. Scented candles. Your best friend. The smell of fallen leaves. The gentle warmth of your cat snoozing on your lap. Tiny, prickly cacti. All of these things, like one of those old one-second-a-day videos, fill your senses.

 

You decide you miss it. But you can’t leave because you think They’ll kill you and it’s just too scary and you can’t do it. 

 

But the seed has planted. And you can’t stop thinking about it. 

 

You decide that if you don’t forget by next month, you’ll leave.

 

You don’t forget. You plan instead. 

 

Being honest with yourself, it’s a pretty dumb plan. The door to your house isn’t locked from the outside or anything. They use intense fear to keep the people inside. They make an example out of the people who rebel. And it’s never pretty. 

 

So slowly, people stopped listening. They stayed inside. They didn’t watch the news. All of this is entirely cowardice.

 

You hate yourself for it. 

 

The food is packed. It’s just some ramen and cereal and protein bars, but considering you’ve been hoarding your allotted food specifically for this occasion, you’re pretty proud. You also have a few things to cause a diversion. You have some of that all-purpose chlorinated cleaning juice in a little Mason jar, and (this is what you’re really proud of) some socks filled with mothballs and bike fluid. The chlorine will interact with the bike fluid and ignite, which will cause the mothballs to light up.

 

You walk up to your door. Your breath gets shallow and your heart speeds up. You distance yourself from this anxiety.

 

You work up the courage to push the door open.

 

Once outside, you fall down to your knees and you cry. 

 

You go back inside. 

 

You put your homemade diversions in your drawer with the other attempts.

 

And you go back to your life.

 

Maybe next time you’ll be able to do it.


End file.
